“I’ll bring the guys,” he says, and I hear a smile in his voice. “We can hang out afterwards if you’re up for it. Everyone should hear you.”
I smile, despite myself. Clayton at the Throng again so I can sing my song to him, my muse who sets my insides aflame? How can I say no to all of that?
“Sounds good,” I murmur with a nod.
Clayton leans a bit to my right, eclipsing the sun and giving me the gift of his beautiful face for one fleeting moment.
“See you then, Dessie,” he murmurs, the sound of my name through his velvety voice sending a tremor of excitement down my body, before we part ways.
I fly through the vocal performance as if it wasn’t ever a vex on my mind. The class even seems to smile back at me, and the whole world spins as if it were the basketball on the end of some guy’s finger. Clayton’s finger. He’s got my whole world and he’s spinning it.
I don’t even dread going into rehearsal as much, despite how horrible my first day was. I sit next to Eric and pay attention the whole time, no “sickly waiting for Clayton to answer my text” distracting me the whole four hours.
And I take Eric’s advice and suck. I suck so hard when I recite my lines. I even chuckle at the irony that, despite our requirement of being off-book for act one, we still have to hold our scripts so that we can write down the blocking and directions we’re given. Really, each time I look at the script to jot down a note, I take the chance to suck up my next line with my eyes, then suck as I recite it.
Suck Town.
When we break after two hours for a fifteen, Eric puts an arm around me and says, “You’re sucking really well today.”
“You too,” I note, since Eric got to finally do his first Simon scene. “Your ‘drunk’ is spot-on. I should know; I’ve seen you at the Throng.”
“Speaking of, are we still on?”
“Yep. And,” I add, giving him my playful eyes, “a special someone and his two roommates are coming.”
That stops Eric dead in his green Converse. “No way.”
“Way,” I state with a grin. “Very, very way.”
Eric dances into the men’s bathroom with a howl of excitement as I saunter off to the quiet, unoccupied lobby which, at 8:08pm, is somewhat like a very long, dark dorm room, feeling strangely intimate and safe. I stare out of the tall glass windows at the courtyard, watching students pass under streetlamps as the chill of the AC touches my skin, and I pull out my phone.
I need to make a call and I’m not sure I really want to make it. Yes, of course I could wait until tomorrow, but I also need to get some answers to my questions. I’m walking on uneven ground until I do.
I press the phone to my ear, my eyes centering on the back of a bench outside where a pair of lovers are holding each other, the tops of their heads glowing under the pale white streetlamp.
“Dad?”
“Dessie, sweetie,” he says, his voice nearly singing with happiness. “How’s your life down there, sweetie? Isn’t Klangburg just charming?”
“It’s really great, Dad. Thanks so much. I’m really having … I’m really having a time down here,” I finish with a doleful sigh.
“Sweetie?”
He hears the doubt, even in my sigh. In complete contrast to my oblivious mother, my dad picks up on every little nuance in my voice; he always has.
“I’m just … curious …” I start, wondering whether I really, truly want to broach this subject right now, “how exactly I came to … enjoy this time here.”
My dad doesn’t sidestep around any subject. “All I had to do was call up Marv and tell him what a fine, promising young lady you are,” he discloses at once.
Marv? “And who’s Marv?”
“Marv, sweetheart! The Director of the School of Theatre. Haven’t you met him yet? He said he’d see you first thing and make sure you’re taken care of.”
I feel my head spinning. “The Director himself? Doctor Marvin Thwaite?”
“That’s the one. Is there a problem?”
I guess I was a bit naïve to not consider who my father’s contact was. Of course it’d be someone at the top. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”
“We went to college together, sweetie. He’s doing really well for himself, being head of the department and all. Pays to have friends in high places, eh?”
Presuming you don’t stoop to an all-time low with said high-placed friends. “Dad, why is Kellen here?”
“Oh, so he’s arrived? I wasn’t sure if it was this week or next. With all our focus on Winona’s show in London, I forget what day of the week it is unless Mia puts the schedule right in front of me.”